The few short hours before the group reconvened at the Floating Dragon passed much too quickly, in Michta Vess's opinion. He had spent the better part of an hour in his room, drinking two cups of tea, so lost in thought that the flavor hardly registered on his tongue. His gaze occasionally settled on the crystal ball that sat silently upon its cradle on the table before him, wondering if he dared to try and use his powers, if only for a moment.

Eventually, he rose from his perch and donned a set of relatively plain black clothing, a silky tunic and sleek trousers. He was loathe to expose his more costly garments to whatever the Bloodletters had planned for him, deigning to keep his manner of dress simple and comfortable enough without diminishing his presence. Without his typical robes, he looked much smaller than usual, his tiny frame making him appear to be more vulnerable than ever. Though he stood with as much poise as he had the first time he had spoken with the Lady Warden, it did little to hide his delicate build.

Descending the staircase into the commons area, he laid eyes on Castor, who was, surprisingly, waiting for him instead of trying to woo the patrons and staff. The captain joined him without a word, and Michta led them out into the street, glancing about absently.

"Are your men ready, Captain?"

"Have been for an hour. I don't like this, elfling."

"You don't have to." Michta replied, doing his best to kill the inflection in his voice. "Just make sure that you stick to the plan. We've been dealt a wild card, and we have to be ready to play it at just the right moment. Otherwise, I am doing this for nothing."

He stopped, turning to face the swordsman, his expression earnest. "And Captain? You mustn't say anything to the others. They must believe that the plan is as we discussed. We cannot afford to have them doubting what they see with their own eyes. If that happens, Crucia will become suspicious."

Castor looked away with a grimace, nodding stiffly. Michta relaxed somewhat, content with the swordsman's obedience. He faced the street once more, looking for the others.

The Lady Warden was already in attendance when the two stepped out onto the empty street. She was grinning up at a man seated in a leather saddle on the back of a horse. The man was not classically handsome, but he was rugged and friendly. He leaned down to say something in a low voice to her, something that made her laugh brightly. She lifted her palm from where it rested on the horse just behind his leg. Said hand gave a hard swat to the horse's rump, spooking the creature. Its hooves danced against the road for a moment before it startled forward and almost unseated the man. He growled back a complaint and her laughter rose again.

She turned and strolled towards Michta lazily, her grin affixed unnaturally. "My men are in position in case things go poorly," she offered in a soft voice, apparently somewhat adept at subterfuge. In her own small way.

She leaned up against the wall of the tavern lazily, her face tipped up towards the stars twinkling above them. One foot lifted to press back against the wall behind her, balancing upon the other booted foot. "This is a terrible plan, Michta, but it's all we've got. Anything that you want me to say? A bold, inspiring speech perhaps? Maybe a hug?," she teased, with a humor she did not particularly feel. Her smile, set far below worried eyes, did nothing to lighten the mood.

Something was not right. And she couldn't put her finger on what it was.

"Frankly," because Glenn Burnie could not walk up on others without speaking something, anything. "I think this is the best plan I've come up with in months," and he just let that linger for a moment. He wasn't exactly clad for battle. He wasn't clad much differently than usual. Though he hadn't used it in any meaningful sense in ages, there was a sword at his side. His clothes were baggy, just annoyingly so but not enough to be comedic, barely an affectation really. Certainly not stylish or attractive though. Egris, for reasons other than carnal, had some idea of the athleticism he hid underneath.

If he heard that bit about a hug, there was no indication. He did, however, for good measure, look at Castor as if he hadn't the slightest idea who he was.

"Of course," he'd add, with just enough affectation to be both annoying and slightly comedic. "It's the only plan I've come up with in months."